The Twelve Days of Tolkien
by Willow-41z
Summary: A Christmas drabble challenge.
1. The Challenge

**The Challenge**

On the first day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:

young Estel in an oak tree.

On the second day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:

sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the third day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:

Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:

Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me: Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:

Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:

Eomer and 'Thiri, Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:

birds in the White Tree, Eomer and 'Thiri, Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:

Bema and Shelob, birds in the White Tree, Eomer and 'Thiri, Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:

Tulkas and Nessa, Bema and Shelob, birds in the white tree, Eomer and 'Thiri, Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:

two hobbits pranking Gandalf, Tulkas and Nessa, Bema and Shelob, birds in the white tree, Eomer and 'Thiri, Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my dear muse said to me:

"I give up! Write what you want!"

**Write eleven drabbles (or one-shots, if you get stuck) on the topics above, and one of your choice, by Epiphany.**

The challenge was initially posted on Garden of Ithilien on December 24th, 2006.


	2. Day 1

_On the first day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:_

_young Estel in an oak tree._

- - -

_Closer... closer..._

Seven-year-old Estel lay flat along the wide oak bough and clutched his mushy acorns, waiting with silent laughter for his unsuspecting brothers, lured by a spurious message, to pass under his tree.

Then they were directly below him, and with a gleeful grin he let fly.

_Closer... closer..._

Twenty-year-old Estel straddled the branch and pulled his bowstring back to his jaw, waiting with taut muscles for the fleeing orcs, pursued by his brothers, to pass under his tree.

Then the moonlight revealed their loathsome forms, and with the fury of the Edain burning in his blood, he fired.


	3. Day 2

_On the second day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:_

_sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree._

- - -

Arwen tried to be strong for the people, but for the third time in her life she felt as if her heart had been torn out. _He's not coming back._ Stifled tears burned her eyes. _He should have been back days ago._

Then murmurs, and the doors opened, and she saw her husband, and--

"Eldarion!" She had her teenaged son in her arms with no memory of running to him.

"It's all right, mother," he said sheepishly.

"Where, what--"

"My horse threw me," Eldarion said, and silently Estel brushed her tears away. "Dear mother. I'm sorry I made you worry."


	4. Day 3

_On the third day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:_

_Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree._

- - -

The cold darkness pulled at his bones, and he heard the death screams of his brother.

The agony of the flame ate at his flesh, and he heard the death screams of his father.

_All things fall to despair_--

--and then he woke, heart pounding, to cool air and cool sheets and the soft rustle of wind in the leaves of Emyn Arnen.

Beside him, a sleepy murmured inquiry, and he rolled over and smiled, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

"You are my best dream," Faramir whispered, and gently kissed the soft curve of her neck.


	5. Day 4

_On the fourth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:_

_Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree._

- - -

Gimli laid the weapon near the other gifts. "My first axe," he said gruffly to the squirming bundle in Aragorn's arms. "My father taught me to use it when I was young. When you've grown a bit, I'll teach you to use it, too." Aragorn and Legolas exchanged amused looks. "What?"

Aragorn shook his head. "Nothing, my friend. I thank you. It is a princely gift." And he smiled, but his eyes were serious as he spoke.

But later, Arwen called for Aragorn, having heard the tale from one of the maids. "Estel," she said. "Gimli gave our daughter _what_?"


	6. Day 5

_On the fifth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:_

_Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree._

- - -

Feanor stares in wonder at the sight before him. _So radiant_, he thinks. _So beautiful. Surely all the light of Arda is contained in it_. He leans forward, transfixed, and reaches out to touch it...

Then Galadriel turns and sees him, and her eyes narrow as she twitches her hair out of reach. He glares back at the daughter of his half-brother, his hand brushing the hilt of his belt knife. _Someday_, he promises himself. _Someday I shall touch it._

_Someday, I shall take it._

Years later, Feanor finds himself staring again. But this time, the brilliant hair is red.


	7. Day 6

_On the sixth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:_

_Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree._

- - -

Legolas stood at the bow, his hands gripping the railing, the droplets of cold salt water hitting his face as the wind caught his hair. "I will never have peace again," he murmured. "I have seen the sea."

Gimli clapped him on the back. "Take some rest," he said kindly. "It's been a long battle and we sail to one longer yet." He worried for his friend; his heart told him this was not just more elvish nonsense.

The seagull, on the other hand, cared nothing for the worries of the immortal as it emptied its rank payload on him.


	8. Day 7

_On the seventh day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:_

_Eomer and 'Thiri, Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! __Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree._

- - -

Lothiriel closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss, her breath hitching in her throat at the feel of warm soft lips pressing against hers and gentle hands caressing her neck. She knew it was wrong, to be wantonly kissing a man she barely knew, in the open where anyone could see, but it felt so _good_ to be held, it had been so long since she had been held...

"Princess Lothiriel!" The sudden bark made her partner pull back in shock, and she looked defiantly up into the angry face of the King of Rohan. "What are you doing?"

- - -

And an extra 212-word short, _Wary_.

- - -

"Eowyn." Eomer took his sister's hands and forced her to meet his gaze. "It will be fine. He loves you deeply."

"They say his cousin is the epitome of Gondorian womanhood," Eowyn said, her cheeks flushed. "What if he compares us and finds me lacking?"

"Then," Eomer promised, with a dark thought for the princess of Dol Amroth, "I will make them both wish they had never been born." He gave her a gentle push towards the door. "Go. Your bridegroom is waiting."

-

"Faramir." Lothiriel put her hands on her cousin's shoulder and looked up into his eyes. "It will go wonderfully. She would not marry you if she did not love you."

"I'm not a man of the Rohirrim," Faramir said, his eyes for once widened with nerves. "Our ways are different. What if she compares me to her brother and finds me lacking?"

"Then," Lothiriel promised, with a dark thought for the Rohirric king, "I will make them both wish they had never set foot in Gondor." She reached up to touch his cheek. "Go. Eowyn is waiting."

After the wedding, Faramir and Eowyn formally introduced their dearest relatives to one another. Their nerves forgotten in joy, they both wondered why Eomer and Lothiriel eyed each other like circling cats.


	9. Day 8

_On the eighth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:_

_birds in the White Tree, Eomer and 'Thiri, Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! __Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree._

- - -

"Look!" The young sailor's cry prompted Isildur to glance up, and follow the boy's pointing arm into the sky. "Thrushes!"

Isildur squinted against the sun. Thrushes indeed, of the kind that had flitted about the homes of the Faithful in Numenor, but how had they gotten here, hundreds of miles from any land?

He watched as the two birds whirled and darted before settling into the branches of the precious sapling. _That's how_, he realized. Then: _We will not be the only refugees in Middle-earth._

The tight feeling, present for so long in his chest, eased, just a little.


	10. Day 9

_On the ninth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:_

_Bema and Shelob, birds in the White Tree, Eomer and 'Thiri, Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree._

- - -

He pursues her forever, the blasts of his horn blaring the hunt and echoing in the narrow, twisting stone spaces of the bowels of the earth. She flees him forever, the scuttling of her footsteps and the malevolent glowing of her eyes setting his blood aflame.

Orome does not give up. Sometimes he goes above to hunt foul things in the clear air, but always, always, he returns. For one day, in the last battle, while all around him crumbles to chaos and Turin Turambar's wrathful blazing eyes allow Melkor no escape, it will be his part to slay her.


	11. Day 10

_On the tenth day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:_

_Tulkas and Nessa, Bema and Shelob, birds in the white tree, Eomer and 'Thiri, Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree._

- - -

For all their majesty, they still feel emotions. "Why does Tulkas find disfavor with you?" Este asks gently.

Nessa looks away. "He says I am like a deer," she replies, her mouth downturned. "But they are long-limbed and skittish."

Later, Tulkas finds her. "I think deer are beautiful," he says quietly.

Nessa looks up, startled that he moves so noiselessly. "Truly?" Her eyes widen.

"They are graceful and fleet-footed," he tells her, "and they move like the wind, faster than anything else I know-- save for one."

Nessa's breath catches in her chest.

"Will you dance for me?" he asks.


	12. Day 11

_On the eleventh day of Christmas, my dear muse gave to me:_

_two hobbits pranking Gandalf, Tulkas and Nessa, Bema and Shelob, birds in the white tree, Eomer and 'Thiri, Legolas sailing, Feanor's love! Gimli's first axe, Faramir's dream, sad Arwen's tears, and young Estel in an oak tree._

- - -

"The Lay of Leithian." Gandalf stared at the manuscript and began to read as the hobbits listened attentively. "Bilbo's translation."

" 'Once there was a maiden who went to the well,

and to see her true love she cast a spell,

and out leapt a frog prince all clad in blue--' Frodo, this isn't the Lay of Leithian!"

"Bilbo gave it to me!" Frodo protested, but his smile gave him away as beside him his uncle chortled merrily.

"Beren with warts!" Bilbo gasped, and descended into mirth again.

"Hmmph," Gandalf said, beetling his brows, but then his chest began to shake.


	13. Day 12

_On the twelfth day of Christmas, my dear muse said to me:_

"_I give up! Write what you want!"_

A companion to day three.

- - -

She knows he has nightmares, and wonders if his dreams are like hers.

She wonders if he dreams of walking through a long, silent hall, with bodies on biers on either side: her father, her mother, her uncle, her cousin, her brother. Him. And at the end of the hall is an evil wraith and her steps bring her to it against her will.

And then he kisses her, and in her next dream, someone walks the hall with her, and the darkness falls back.

_Love is not sharing dreams,_ she thinks. _Love is being willing to share the nightmares._


End file.
